Dream of Navarne
by kaltagkiwi
Summary: Twenty-first century girl gets dropped into the forest outside Haugefort. Set during the last book of the second trilogy, about four years into the reign of our lovely Lady Cymrian. My first attempt at any of this...watch out for the F-word!
1. Chapter 1

She was dreaming

She was dreaming. Yes, that was it. She looked around the dark, frozen forest and decided to enjoy it. Dreams this real were rare…she could almost feel her nose hairs freezing. She put all thoughts of the real world—and how much time she had left before her alarm clock inevitably rang—behind her and focused on her surroundings. Her feet, a little cold in their pseudo-ballet slippers and mismatching socks, stood on a patch of frozen, ice-encrusted moss. A dangling branch tickled the back of her neck and she turned. And gaped. The tree behind her was huge, wider than she had ever seen, and the bark was strangely smooth. Reaching up slowly, she ran a reverent finger over it. Something brushed her ear, blowing shivers down her neck, and she whirled. A narrow, frozen path stretched to her right. Silent, towering trunks rose up on each side, spreading branches framing the dark blue sky. Strands of sphagnum moss draped elegantly over branches, a pale green contrast to the darker needles and moss peeked through the snow at the bases of the giant pines. The girl drew a shaky breath, feeling the utter stillness around her. _The woods are silent, dark and deep…_ Choking on a sense of awe, she took a step towards trail. As her feet crunched through the thin crust of snow, she felt something swirl around her legs. She jumped backwards to her patch of moss, eyes wide, frantically searching the dimly lit ground. The gust of wind followed her, snow crystals swirling in its wake. She moved an arm and watched, bemused, as the air current shot off in the direction she had gestured, rattling tree branches, shaking iced bracken, and returning to swirl around her legs. Hmmm, strange dream. She must have left the window open. Gesturing to her companion, she set off towards the trail once more.

Sometime later, she began to wish that her alarm clock would ring. The semi-darkness made it difficult to see the trail, and she had stumbled sideways into thickets or snow banks more times than she could count. What's more, her feet were damp and cold, and she couldn't feel her toes. The gust of wind had behaved a little like a dog at first, chasing off into the trees at the slightest provocation and returning to ruffle her hair, but now it followed sedately at her heels, as if sensing that she was too tired to laugh anymore. She trudged on, thinking. She could not remember ever having a dream like this before, but maybe this was what those REM dreams were like, the ones you never remembered once you woke up. Was this her brain's way of recharging, getting rid of useless information, processing new? Then why could she feel everything so well? Maybe she _had _left the window open, and now was in the latter stages of hypothermia. It sure felt like it. But then why hadn't she woken up yet? She gasped as her foot punched through the snow, trapping her to the thigh. Damn it—not again! She muttered under her breath as she crawled forward, pulling her leg out of the hole. Taking her shoe off, she clutched her frozen foot to her stomach and shook the snow off of it. Why couldn't she have dreamed of surfing in Hawaii, or at least walking through woods in proper boots! Although, she thought, smiling slightly, this was actually the most realistic situation. She wasn't very good at thinking ahead.

She froze, halfway to her feet. Something had crunched behind her. Whirling, she stared between the huge trees. Nothing. She tried to breathe as quietly as possible, although her heart was pounding. Nothing in the branches above her, nothing over there but a familiar swirl of snow…her pulse slowed. She wasn't completely alone, no matter how spooked she felt. Suddenly something cold and metallic pressed against the nape of her neck.

"State your name and business."

She remained silent, mind racing. What the hell?! Oh. Liam. He had come into her room, and, being his usual idiotic self, had failed to notice her hypothermic state and was now waking her up by poking her with something. Without reason or warning, fury rose up. Whirling, she screamed,

"Get the hell away from me!"

The cold was incredible. Snow rushed past, instantly numbing her ears as the huge bearded man sailed through the air, crossbow torn from his grasp. He slammed against a tree and slid to the ground, the violent wind fading as quickly as it had appeared. The man stared in horror at the figure in front of him. What _was _she? He had to tell--

"Oh, god. You're not Liam. Who are you? What do you want?"

The girl took a step closer, too focused on the pale, bearded man before her to hear the quick crunching steps behind her back. But she did feel the club crash into the back of her head.


	2. Chapter 2

Ughhhhhhhhhhh

Ughhhhhhhhhhh. Had she fallen out of bed? Left her window open? Why did her head hurt so much? Oh god, she was going to be sick…she turned her head to the side and retched, then lay still. Okay, she was definitely sick. Good-she had an English paper due today, and it wasn't near good enough, she had spent last night reading instead of working on it, and the conclusion was still boring as…

She froze as she remembered. She had dreamed about a forest…and a big bearded guy…and then something had hit her in the head. And now she was lying with her check pressed into cold, hard dirt. Ooookay. Best to keep pretending to be unconscious. Ooh-what if she had a concussion? Slowly, she opened one eye. Something large and brown was positioned a few inches away. She opened the other, frowning slightly. It kind of looked like…

Gasping, she flung herself back against the wall. The bearded man stared back at her, expressionless. As she blinked, trying to clear the black spots from her vision, a fact she had heard somewhere popped into her head…a beard contained more germs than an entire bathroom, toilet included. Of course, this man didn't look as if he had ever actually been inside a bathroom. Or even knew what a toilet was. He looked her over, clutching a chunk of snow to the back of his head with one leathery hand. Brrr, she thought.

"Don't try to run away. You won't get far."

The forester smiled—only on the inside, of course—at the disgusted look on the boy/woman's face. At first the blue-clad figure who seemed to be have control over the wind had seemed a threat, but watching it groan and retch as it regained consciousness had lowered its status significantly. In fact, he mused, looking it—no, her—over, she was probably just unlucky. Wrong place, wrong time. She certainly didn't seem dangerous or magical. Her short wet hair was iced into points which stuck every which way, and her cheeks glowed pink in her white face. He had thought her a boy because of the length of her hair, and the clothes which she wore—they had resembled some sort of blue uniform from a distance, but up close they were like nothing he had ever seen before. Her shoes…well, it would be a miracle if her toes had survived the night. He hoped his lord didn't double over laughing at the sight of her. His professional pride wouldn't survive the embarrassment.

"I'm not stupid. I'm not going to try running away. Who are you? Where is this? What's going on? Answer me!"

The girl pursed her lips and glared at the man, whose expression still had not changed. She stared him in the eyes for another few minutes, then gave it up. Useless. Sighing, she settled back against the wall and glanced around the small hut. The only light was provided by the small fire that crackled in a corner, and the hole in the roof where the smoke circled out. As she watched, a silent current of air picked itself off the ground and glided over to where she sat. It circled her twice, then settled, warm and dry, around her numb feet. She glanced back at the man across from her. A wicked looking knife had appeared in his hand, and his eyes had a hard look in them as he watched the possessed air current. She gave him a small grin, enjoying any change in expression--especially one that suggested discomfort--and crossed her arms over her chest.

Ten minutes later, she had analyzed the situation from every possible angle and still had no plausible explanation for what was happening. Thanks to Casper the friendly ghost (as she had decided to refer to her temperamental gust of wind) her feet were beginning to unthaw, and she had just come to the realization that Germ (named for his facial hair, of course) was not going to talk no matter how politely she phrased her questions—she had tried every variation with no response other than the occasional calculating glance at the dirt flecks swirling around her feet. Finally, something broke the silence. The crunching of boots outside. The girl glanced toward the door as it was pushed roughly open, her mouth set in a thin line. Annoyed was so much better than scared shitless.

Two more men, neither quite as lacking in personal hygiene as Germ, stomped in through the wooden door. A cold draft of wind rushed in along the floor and stirred the fire before joining Casper around the girl's feet. She felt it, but ignored it, not wanting to draw more attention than necessary now that she was so decidedly outnumbered. The two men knocked the snow off of their boots before closing the door and walking over to the girl's corner. They stood there, studying her. One man was older, graying but still fit, dressed in some sort of leather garment that looked warmer and smellier than what she was wearing. The other looked closer to her own age, but carried himself with an air of umpresumtive authority. She stared at him, intrigued. He was dressed similarly to the other two, but where they carried crossbows and short wooden clubs, he carried…a sword. She shook her head to clear it. There honestly was no way to explain all this. If being knocked out with a wooden club hadn't woken her up, pinching herself wouldn't.

The younger newcomer shook himself simultaneously, then slung a large leather pack off of his shoulder. Setting it down in a corner, he pulled out a cloth back and started over to the fire, beckoning to his companions.

"Johnny, Garvin, come with me."

They walked together over to the fire, where Germ and the young man talked in low voices as the older one assembled something that looked like food. The girl's stomach rumbled, and all three immediately turned. She glared at them until they resumed their conversation—but not before she caught sight of an amused smile on the face of the youngest. He would be Louie, she decided. The sixteenth.

A few minutes later, Louie approached carrying two cups of something steaming. He set one down in front of the girl, and, sitting cross-legged, sipped from the other. The girl looked at him coldly,

"Who are you? Who are they? What the hell am I doing here?"

His raised his eyebrows at her over the rim of his cup, appearing a little shocked and a little amused.

"Am I going to get any bloody answers, or should I just go back to sleep?"

This time he laughed at loud. Pushing the cup in her direction, he said,

"Drink this. It will make you feel better."

"Not. Until. I get some ANSWERS!"

She yelled the last word, and her air current caught the mood, rocking the offered cup until the liquid sloshed over the side. Gwydion felt the warm air swirl past his face, then die back down. He watched the dirt around the girl's feet, and then stared at her face, which still glared back at him.

"Very well. You attacked a forest guard, one of my men. He claims—and Johnny never lies or exaggerates—that you somehow manipulated the wind. Garth made sure you were incapacitated, then he fetched me while Johnny brought you here."

The girl took a careful drink of the liquid—it tasted like pine needles, but at least it was warm.

"So who are you? And where is here?"

"I am Gwydion. You are in the north of Navarne, just a few mile--"

He stopped at her reaction. Her face was white, and the cup had dropped to the ground, the herbal tea spilling for the second time in less than a minute.

"Navarne? As in….your father was Stephen? Your grandmother is Rhapsody, the Namer? Achmed gave you your sword, and--"

A knife was at her throat. He was suddenly nose-to-nose with her, and his eyes were cold.

"Who are you? How do you know this?"

She froze, then, looking at his expression, she started to laugh.

"Oh god, you are such a good actor! Kelly put you up to this, didn't she? Cause we were reading the books, and--wow, you much think I'm such a dork! I can't believe she woul--"

Gasping, she cut off as the knife dug into her neck.

"Who. Are. You."

"Okay, okay, it's not funny anymore! What the hell--"

"I will ask one more time. What do you know of Rhapsody and Achmed?"

"Who _are _you?"

"I asked first."

"Actually—"

"ANSWER ME!!"

Once again, she felt fury rise up, and Casper—Casper the violent, temperamental bugger of a gust of wind—blasted the offender off of his feet. But this time, the offender was the wielder of an elemental sword. The girl watched, open-mouthed, as Louie hit the wall, pulled out his invisible blade, and sliced viscously at Casper. Which only made the wind angrier. It beat at him, pulling at his clothes, tugging his hair—longer than hers, the girl absentmindedly realized—into his eyes, and playfully batting his sword this way and that. Until, for the second time that day, the girl was knocked over the head with a wooden club.


	3. Chapter 3

Ouch

Ouch. Brrr. Oh my god, I can't believe it fucking happened _again_. These were her first thoughts. Then came, why am I on a fucking _horse_? Kelly, if this is your idea of an early birthday present—Wheee, let's pretend we're Ancient Cymrians!--I'm going to fucking _kill _you. Fuck fuckety fuck. Ouch.

A swirl of powdered snow whirred beneath the horse's hooves, ruffling her hair as her throbbing head thunked rhythmically against the horse's sweaty side. Ohhhh no you don't. I've probably got permanent brain damage already. This is not happening again. _Piss off!_ She flung herself violently backward, hitting someone's chin with her poor head and falling off the horse. Too late, she realized that not only were her hands and feet tied together, but she was no longer on a trail surrounded by soft snow banks. The broad, icy road was beautiful, but painful to land on. The wind whistled consoling around her head, ignoring her grimace. The minute she had moved, her three guards—Johnny, Garvin, and Gwy—Louie (this was NOT a book, or a dream, she was actually factually being abfuckingducted) rushed in her direction. Moving more cautiously this time—ha—they stood in front of her. She glared halfheartedly. Her head hurt too much to summon any real emotion. Barely even groaning, she allowed herself to be hauled back onto the horse and seated in front of Louie, who was rubbing his chin. She smirked. He tied her hands to the saddle. They continued on.

A few miles later, the small party rounded a corner to see lighted windows appear in the distance. All four of them breathed sighs of relief, although some were louder about it than others. It was too cold outside even to snow, and nobody could feel their ears or noses. The girl would have been warmer if she had leaned back against Louie, but she had no intention of having another knife stuck at her throat. Instead she peered ahead at the…large stone wall. No way. Where _was _she?

Gwydion smiled as Haguefort came into view. He was glad to be home, although he had an unbelievable amount of work to do before he could sleep. The…woman, he supposed…in front of him meant even more worry. Everyone knew who Rhapsody was, but only a few knew that she was his "grandmother". And no one but him knew that Achmed had given him the wind sword. He groaned aloud, making the woman in front of him jump. At times like this he couldn't believe that he had considered it an honor to be named duke at seventeen.

A groan from just behind her startled the girl. Ha. Good. Maybe he was tired and cold as well, although it was probably impossible to be more sothan her. Germ—no, Johnny—opened the gate, and the other three plodded in behind him.

"Is this….Haugefort?"

The men looked at each other. She watched as Garvin and Johnny nodded, hands fingering clubs. She looked around at the wooden cottages lining the road in front of them, and at the stone building less than half a mile away. After a few more seconds of silence, the horses continued on their way.

When they reached the building at the top of the hill, the two older men dismounted. Louie passed the girl down to Garvin, but she leaned away from him and steadied herself against the horse, watching the three men resignedly.

"Okay…let's pretend--just for the moment, mind!--that I believe you. Will you untie me? The ropes aren't going to help, you know."

To prove it, she sent Casper whispering through their ears with a thought.

"You can't keep hitting me, and I won't…set the wind on you…unless you try to hurt me. So please untie me. And tell me when it is. How many years after Rhapsody became the Lady Cymrian."

Gwydion watched her struggle to balance against the fidgeting horse with her feet and hands tied together. He nodded to Garvin, who leaned down and cut through her ropes.

"Rhapsody has been Lady Cymrian for four years now. Come inside."

She stumbled—still couldn't feel her feet--up stone steps and through a set of wide wooden doors, following Garvin—Johnny had stayed behind to stable the horses. Realizing this, she felt a little sad. He was the only one who hadn't poked her with anything yet.

Garvin came to a large hall and stopped. Dogs snored in front of a fireplace, and, in spite of the smells—not bad, necessarily, just…different—the girl was relieved to feel warmth against her nose and ears. Her feet and hands were still numb. She hoped she wouldn't need to use them anytime soon.

Garvin looked at the girl, who was standing in a sort of stupor, and raised an eyebrow. Gwydion grinned, shrugged, and waved Garvin away. Lucky man, he thought…he might still get a few hours of sleep tonight. Gwydion turned back to the girl.

" What's your name?"

She blinked and turned to face him.

"Um…oh, bugger. I don't know. I'm too tired to think of a good one. Sorry."

He stared at her. And blinked.

"All right. You must be exhausted. I am as well, but then, being attacked by a gust of wind is not very relaxing."

"Neither is getting hit over the head with a club…twice."

Gwydion looked away guiltily.

"I am sorry about that. If you do not use your…power… against anyone in this household, it will not happen again."

"If I am not poked with any metallic objects in this bloody household, it won't happen again. Anyway, it wasn't me who did the blasting, it was Casp—it _wasn't_ me."

Gwydion wisely chose to remain silent. After a moment, he gestured to a stairway to the left of the hall.

"If you are tired, there is a guest bedchamber up these stairs. Third door on your left. I will be up in a moment with food, and then we can talk. You have a lot to explain."

"So do you. Twit."

He thought she muttered something else as she climbed the stairs, but he ignored it in favor of the smell of fresh bread wafting from the kitchens.

Five minutes later, he pushed open the door of her bedchamber, a tray of bread and beer in his hands. Stumbling over an object on the floor, he set the tray down on the desk in the corner and went out again, returning with a torch from the hall. After lighting all five candles and the fireplace, he realized that the object on the floor was a shoe, and the lump under the blankets on the bed was the girl. Sighing, he poured the beer into cups and sat down in the chair at the desk, happy, for a moment, just to sit. It was so warm in the room…he felt his eyes closing and jerked himself awake. No time for that. He had to get this girl's story—she could be a serious threat. How much did she know?

The girl felt herself being shaken awake. At last, she thought, it's morning. Tues…no, Wednesday…college English. And a Physics quiz. With a small pang of regret, she sat up in bed.

"I'm up, I'm up—"

And flung herself backwards again.

"Oh God, you're still here. I'm still here."

Gwydion gave a tired laugh and held out his arm.

"Yes. I brought food--come and eat with me."

The girl took his hand and pulled herself upright. She took a deep breath, gave her head a shake, and walked steadily over to the desk. Pulling up a stool, she watched him slice the fresh bread and pour two cups full of…was that beer?

The girl laughed out loud, making Gwydion stop what he was doing.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. Is that…beer?"

He glanced down at the two cups, sipped out of one, and then held the other out to her.

"Yes. Does it meet with your approval?"

She grinned, and took the cup from him. After taking a small sip, she grimaced and set it to one side, reaching for the steaming bread instead.

"Lovely. Thanks."

Gwydion watched, amused, and then joined her. The bread was dark and warm, but someone had forgotten to add salt, the girl decided. Or maybe it was just difficult to get ahold of. As they each reached for a second piece, he cleared his throat.

"All right. As host, I will answer your questions first. What do you want to know?"

She smiled slightly, setting down her bread on the desk in front of her.

"You know what's strange? I don't think that you can tell me anything I don't know already. The only thing I don't know—_if_ all of this isn't some elaborate hoax or dream, and I'm beginning to think that it's not—is how I got here. And you don't seem to know any more than I do…"

She trailed off, staring at the desk. Gwydion counted silently to ten, willing himself not to scream. Taking a deep breath, he tried for a reasonable tone.

"I think that you'd better start from the beginning. What are you talking about? Why were you in the forest, and how do you know what you know about me?"

The girl picked up her bread, stood up and stepped over to the bed. Sitting cross-legged, she wrapped a green woolen blanket around herself and looked the man straight in the eye.

"I don't come from here. In my world…well, it's very different than this. I don't know if you've ever heard of alternate universes, of coma patients, or whatever, but…Okay. I'm doing a bad job. Listen, here's what I know: one minute, I was…well, I can't remember where I was or what I was doing, exactly, but I was in my world. The next thing I know, I'm standing in a forest. I saw a path, followed it, and then your forest-guard-person sticks a crossbow bolt in my neck. I got mad at him, and suddenly this bit of wind who decided to follow me around pins him against a tree. I didn't mean for that to happen—I've never seen or felt anything like it before. You know what happened next."

Gwydion stared at her in disbelief.

"That is the worst story I have ever heard. Do you honestly think I would believe… Would you like to hear my version of the story? Assuming that you are not insane—which is quite a big assumption—I would say that you are some sort of amateur spy. Probably from Sorbold. But that doesn't explain the wind…or how you know so much. And Achmed…this has something to do with Achmed, doesn't it? Did he send you? Are you Firbolg? Why would he send anyone this unprofessional? Is this a joke?"

The girl leapt to her feet, glaring.

"Amateur spy? Firbol--do I _look_ Firbolg to you? Don't answer that! I know so much about you because you _aren't real_. Did you hear me? You. Are. A. Fairytale! The figment of some science-fiction writer's imagination! What, don't believe me? Your sword is called Tysterisk. "Its strength flows through its bearer; until a short time ago it was in the hands of the creature that took Rhapsody hostage, part man, part demon, now dead, or so it seems at least." Achmed told you that the day he gave it to you, but I know more. I know what the creature was, who it used to be, where Rhapsody hid from it, how it was defeated--I know everything, Gwydion. But it's just a story. Oh my god, this is ridiculous."

She sank back onto the bed, staring at the compressed ball of bread in her hand. Gwydion sat rigidly upright on his stool, hand resting on the hilt of Tysterisk. He met the girl's eyes as she looked up again, and held her gaze for several seconds. People always said you could judge a person by their eyes, he thought, frustrated, but it wasn't doing much for him. He would judge her instead by her desperation, and by the sheer ludicracy of what she suggested. Anyway, Achmed didn't have a sense of humor.

The girl caught her breath as Gwydion nodded slowly.

"All right. For the time being, I believe you. Tomorrow, the Lord Cymrian returns. We will talk with him then."

He rose, and, leaving the food on the desk, walked towards the door. Pausing on the threshold, he turned around.

"Before I go—will you tell me your name?"

The girl, huddled in a green blanket, looked back at him. Her short hair stirred as a breath of wind swirled through the windowless room. Pursed lips slowly eased into a tired smile as she let her unease go and decided, illogically and idiotically, to trust him.

"Sure. It's Jenny. Goodnight."

He smiled.

"Sleep well, Jenny."

Just before he left the room he thought he felt a draft of air gently ruffle his hair, and then it was gone. He closed the door behind him and headed to his chamber. Halfway there, he realized that he had resolved absolutely nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

Four hours later, it was morning

Four hours later, it was morning. Jenny knew exactly where she was before she opened her eyes. No more dirt floors or falls off of horseback, she decided. She had a mission—to wash her face. It wasn't much of one, but it would do for the short term. She sat up on the mattress—straw, she noticed—and shivered. The fire had gone out in the night, as had, thankfully, the candles. It wouldn't have made much of an impression to burn down the keep her first night there. Grimacing, she pulled her blue zebra-striped bra away from the grooves it had worn in her skin. As long as she was universe-hopping, why couldn't she have brought along a change of underwear?

The desk was cleared of last night's meal, and in its place was a pitcher of water and a basin. The chamber pot was under the bed. The water was icy. The chamber pot was painted with flowers and butterflies. Rolling her eyes, the girl wiped her tingling face on her undershirt and resolutely zipped her fleece jacket up again. Striding to the door, she pushed it open.

The hall way was surprisingly empty, but she could hear the chatter of voices coming from a nearby stairway. She could smell food as well, and she was hungry enough to risk the attention. _Maybe they'll think I'm a boy. A deaf, mute, invisible boy who just wants food…she took a deep breath and started down the stairs. _

The hall she had seen the night before was in chaos. People of all ages filled the long wooden benches, passing along…she sniffed. Fresh bread, oatmeal…and yes, more beer. Yuck. More people filed past an opening in the wall, behind which a harried-looking woman was passing out loaves of bread. Keeping her head down, the girl joined in the end of the line. Unfortunately, the person just ahead of her took an immediate interest.

"Are you new around here, then? Hmmm? What uniform is that, then, hmmm? Well? You know, I used to work in the guard? Went all sorts of places…never thought I man like me would be a traveler, did you, hmmm? Well, I was! Seen all of Roland, know it better than the back of my hand--even been to Sorbold once or twice. So you may think you're clever, young man, but I'm no pig farmer, hmmm!"

The girl gave a helpless shrug, and tried out her high school French.

"Desole, Monsieur. Je ne'parle pas Anglais!"

The man gave her a stern look, then turned around with another "Hmmmm."

She turned around to find Gwydion watching her from across the room. He seemed to be trying not to laugh. She shot him a grin and turned again, finding herself almost at the window. Thankfully, the people filing past didn't seem to be paying the woman for the bread. Jenny took hers with a quick,

"Merci, Madame,"

keeping her face to the ground, and made her way quickly back to the stairway. From that vantage point, she watched Gwydion make his way across the crowd toward her, exchanging polite greetings with at least ten people on his way over, and getting his hair ruffled or hand shaken several times. He still looked tired, though his shoulder length hair was tied back and he wore fresh…well, she supposed that that must be a tunic. His clothing was brown and blue, neither over nor under dressed. _Wow_, she thought, watching him move through the room. _And he's not even a people person—the book said his favorite thing to do was go for long walks in the woods. There's no way I could do that…if they'd offered me the dukedom, I probably would have run in the other direction, no matter how much I was needed._

Gwydion moved through the breakfasters, eventually finding himself at the foot of the stairs where the girl…no, Jenny…waited. She wore the same blue garments as the night before, but now he could see that her hair was red, and cut in a short, lopsided fashion. Chewing on a piece of bread, she watched him, an odd look on her face.

"Want a piece?"

Gwydion waved it away.

"No thank you, I've already eaten. Did you sleep well?"

"For a little. Did you sleep _at all_?"

He smiled wryly.

"For about an hour. It's all right, I'm used to it. The Lord Cymrian will be here sometime around midday."

"Where has he gone? And where is Anborn? I though he usually stayed at Haguefort?"

"He travels as much as Ashe does. I am not sure where he is, but the Lord Cymrian is returning from Highmeadow."

She caught the glance he shot at her.

"Yes, I know what that is. Of course, I would if I was a spy, as well. Is Rhapsody gone as well?"

He looked behind him at crowded hall, then back at the girl.

"Will you walk with me?"

"Mmmmhmmm."

She followed him out the double doors that they had entered through the previous night, into the clear, sunny winter day outside. They trudged around the perimeter of the building, Jenny's ears kept warm by the gust of warm air that still trailed her.

"Can I ask you something?"

"As long as you know that I know it's a distraction. But go ahead."

Gwydion stopped and reached a finger toward her jacket, hesitantly touching the material at her shoulder.

"What _is _this? It looks like some sort of blue moss, but it feels like tightly knit wool…"

Jenny grinned.

"_This _is fleece. Not wool-fleece…it's a mixture of…mmm…"

She pulled the tag around and peered at it.

"Cotton and spandex. And _this_—"

She yanked her zipper down and up, and laughed as he jumped.

"—is a zipper. Told you I wasn't from around here!"

He looked fascinated, and reached for it carefully.

"Do you mind if I…and these little teeth…but how does this…"

Peering at it, he worked it up and down a few times. Suddenly he realized that she was shivering and he had his nose pushed against her chest. He hastily zipped up her…fleece…jacket again and stepped back.

"I'm sorry. That was rude."

"And entertaining. It's fine. But now you have no excuse not to tell me where Rhapsody is. Has she had her baby yet?"

Gwydion looked around. They were still close to the double doors, just between the keep and the stables. He led the girl further on, to a small building nestled in a corner of the grounds. Taking a key from his belt, he unlocked the front door and led her in.

Jenny looked around her. She was surrounded by carefully arranged odds and ends…was this some sort of gatekeeper's house…Oh! Of course—the Ancient Cymrian Museum! And there were the stairs, and the place where the altar for Ashe used to sit, where Stephen had been crouched when he first saw his friend again after believing him dead…she stared around again, this time in awe.

Gwydion watched her face for a moment, smiling. She seemed as fascinated by the museum as he had been by her "zipper". He closed the door behind them and walked through the small building, peering into corners until he was sure that they were alone. When he turned back to the entrance, she was no longer there.

"Jenny…where are you?"

"Up here. This place is incredible!"

He breathed a sigh of relief and walked up the stairs to join her. She walked, almost reverently, between the displays until she came to the large globe at the back of the room. Gently, she turned it, examining the carefully detailed continents and oceans as they went past.

"At least your planet's round. That's a start. I've read books where planets are flat, and go through space on the backs of giant turtles. I suppose I could have ended up on one of them…"

He watched her run her finger over the Lost Island of Serendair, and then trace a slow path across the Prime Meridion to Navarne.

"What is this planet called? I don't think that it ever says in the books. All they've got is the colorful map in the beginning, with all sorts of dragons and ships drawn in."

"Our planet doesn't have a name. It is simply Earth, surrounded by the stars—Ether. We name continents, but I think that we only do that so that we can claim ownership. Since we all share the earth, we do not name it."

"Hmmm. We call my planet Earth as well, but we know that there's…more. We've got a sun—at the center of the universe, see…our Earth is only the third in line..."

Gwydion crouched down to where she was drawing circles on floor. He wondered if he was a total fool, or if there was actually some truth to what the girl was saying.

"…and we have hundreds of elements. People used to believe that there were just Earth, Fire, Water, and Air, but we've proved otherwise now."

He tried to grasp the idea. _Hundreds _of elements….

"So have you got hundreds of races, then, each one springing from one of your elements?'

She laughed.

"No, only humans. Humans and animals, that is. And there's no…well, no magic, either, I don't think. I mean, people sing, and we can make heat and light at the touch of a button, but that's just engineering and science…a little like what Gwylliam did. No one can sing things into life, or wield swords made of wind, or any of that."

Gwydion frowned.

"It sounds…strange. And sad. And maybe a little dull. But if there is no magic, then how did you get here?"

"No idea."

She pushed off of the floor to her feet, her face serious again.

"Now, if you are sure no one is listening in, and if you think you can tell me…where is Rhapsody?"

He sighed and stood up as well.

"I will tell you as much as I can, but in truth…it is not my secret to tell. You must wait until the Lord Cymrian arrives. Suffice it to say that Rhapsody left a few days ago with the Bolg King and his man-at-arms.

Jenny gasped.

"Already! Oh shit what if I'm too late--Quick, does the maid from Tristan Steward sill work here? Portia? Is she here in the castle?"

"It's not a castle, it's a keep. And yes, Portia still works here—why wouldn't she? She is a good worker, and never complains."

Jenny raised an eyebrow.

"And she's very pretty."

Gwydion blushed a little, and gave her a cold look.

"That's not—"

"Oh crap. Gwydion, have you touched her? Has she touched you? Spoken with you--"

"I'm sorry, but I fail to see how that is—"

Jenny ignored him, the wind that had followed her in swirling faster around her legs. What if Portia had gotten to Gwydion? It would be a nasty plot twist, but she wouldn't put it past Taylor. She remembered what had happened to the last teenager who had a crush on a F'dor and winced. No, surely not. When would Gwydion have had time? And anyway, Portia was focused completely on Ashe. Why would she have risked suspicion by seducing Gwydion as well? Jenny stared into his eyes for a few seconds, and then decided that it was a pointless exercise. Either he was currently controlled by the F'dor or he wasn't. His eyes weren't glowing red, and how else could she…what about blood? Would some of what he was show if he saw or smelled blood?

She picked an antique dagger off a display, simultaneously apologizing for the desecration and hoping she didn't get tetanus. Staring straight into Gwydion's eyes, she pulled down her zipper, peeled back her jacket and sliced her shoulder with the blade. As she felt the warm blood run down her arm, she sighed with relief. All that she had seen in his face was horror, concern, and a little fear. No red irises, no look of eager anticipation.

"Portia is a F'dor demon. It wouldn't be smart to have anything to do with her. Be careful. She can take any form she wants to. You have to warn Ashe--she will take the form of Rhapsody, if she hasn't already. But don't try to kill her, you need Rath…oh bugger, you don't even know who that is."

She sank down onto her knees and pulled her jacket off completely.

"Sorry about the kni—"

Gwydion tore himself out of his stupor and hurried toward her. Portia, a F'dor demon? It wasn't so farfetched, he supposed. Ashe had told him a little of the others, and it sounded as if they would do anything to achieve destruction. Including posing as a quiet, dutiful chambermaid…he shuddered. But why had the stupid girl cut herself? And that blade was nasty looking—who knew what kind of blood it had last shed, or when. He tore off his tunic and put pressure on the cut, which was still bleeding.

Jenny bit her lip and looked away. She could take blood—had no problem with it whatsoever, in fact, and even wanted to become a doctor at some point—but not her own, and not in such large amounts. She had cut deep in the hope of startling any traces of demon into showing themselves, but Gwydion didn't appear to have any desire to suck her blood. In fact, he looked quite angry.

"Would you mind explaining why you felt the need to slice your shoulder open? It won't stop bleeding."

"Put pressure…there…that's a main artery. Sorry, you probably know that already. Ow…thanks. It should stop bleeding soon. Ick."

She glanced away again, pale, and squeezed her eyes shut. Keeping pressure on her arm, Gwydion dragged her to the wall and propped her against it before dropping down beside her.

"You wouldn't answer my question. If you'd had any sort of contact with her, she could easily have infected you. I hoped that if you had been, it would show when you saw and smelled blood."

"Well I don't want to suck your blood, or ravage you, if that's what you mean."

He glared at her for a moment, then looked away, careful to keep the pressure on her arm steady.

"And I'm sorry. I should have answered your question. No, I have never touched—or been touched by—Portia. I have only seen her in passing, and never spoken directly to her."

The girl sighed.

"Oh good. I figured as much, with your reaction to blood the way it was. Sorry I'm being such a wimp about it, by the way."

"Wimp?"

"You know, wimp. Chicken. "Ooooh, it's blood, eeew yuck, I'm gonna be sick!" Wimp."

She was smiling now. He laughed out loud.

"I know exactly how you feel. I can handle blood, but when it comes to rotting flesh…"

"EW! Okay, okay, enough said! I don't even want to know when you've handled rotting flesh…gross."

She laughed and looked down at her arm.

"Think it's stopped?"

He lifted the shirt gingerly and the blood immediately welled up.

"No, not for a while. Here."

He wrapped the tunic more securely around her arm and pulled her to her feet, draping the blue fleece over her shoulders. Keeping one arm around her back and the other pressed against her shoulder, he led her down the stairs and out once more onto the grounds. Together, they walked around the back of the stable to a small wooden door, one of many, in the keep. Through that, down a carpeted hallway, up a flight of stairs, and into another hallway. There Gwydion stopped to readjust the blood-stained tunic. As they stood there, Jenny leaning against the wall, her blood seeping onto the blue fabric, the door across from them opened and a lovely, dark-haired woman stepped out. With her hands full of bed linens and a crisp white cap over her head, she was the picture of domestic servitude. That alone made Jenny's skin crawl—this was the first servant she had seen, and the whole idea struck a nerve. Gwydion looked up and smiled mildly at the look of shocked alarm on the maid's face.

"My lord! This…woman…is hurt! Would you like me to bring bandages?"

"No thank you. I've got it under control…you may return to your duties."

"Yes m'lord. Very Good."

As she walked past them, head bowed, a feeling of unease washed over the two, and was gone. They turned and continued down the hallway, Gwydion finally choosing a door on the left. He led Jenny into a small room furnished with a desk, sofa, and several bookshelves, then turned and locked the door behind them. The girl stared at him, face pale.

"Was that…was she…"

"Portia, yes. Did you get the response you were hoping for when you so shrewdly sliced yourself open?'

She glared at him.

"I was hoping from a response from _you_, not her, stupid! She's been doing this for _millennia_, you think her eyes flash red every time she sees blood? She'd give herself away in a second!"

He pulled her towards the couch.

"Come here, you're dripping on the carpet. Sit down."

Going to the desk, he started pulling out drawers and rifling through papers and quills. A few seconds later he exclaimed, "Ha!" and tossed a roll of bandages in the general direction of the couch. Lifting a pitcher of water from the desk, he sat down beside her and pulled the fleece and tunic away from her shoulder. She grinned weakly at the mantelpiece directly in front of her.

"It's not rotted flesh yet, is it?"

He lifted an eyebrow.

"No, it is much better—see for yourself."

She turned, relaxing when she saw that it was no longer bleeding. She picked up the tunic again, found a clean spot, and, one-handed, dunked it into the pitcher of water, wrung it out, and began to wash the blood off of her shoulder. Gwydion unraveled the roll of bandages.

"Just out of curiosity, what were you planning to do if I was actually possessed by a demon?"

She stopped swabbing her arm and looked at him from under arched eyebrows.

"Um…stab you. Duh."

Gwydion laughed.

"Stab me? Do you even know where to aim?"

She glared and poked him in the chest.

"Under the ribs—I'm not stupid."

"Have you ever stabbed someone before?"

"Of course not! But it can't be that hard—you _were_ just standing with your mouth open."

He raised his eyebrows and went back to digging in a small bag he had pulled from the center of the bandage roll.

"It's harder than it looks. Believe me."

"Have _you_ ever…"

"Yes. I struck a rib, my arm went numb, and the only reason I wasn't killed right there was that Anborn was with me."

She winced, watching him tuck in the end of the bandage.

"Wow. Okay, so maybe I would have pushed you down the stairs instead."

Gwydion laughed, and held out a small glass bottle.

"Here, drink about…this much…of this. It will take away any pain, and should help you sleep."

He removed the lid, handed it to her, and turned to set the bandages, tunic, and pitcher down on the carpet. When he faced her again, she was closing the bottle with a nasty expression on her face.

"Yuck. Yuckyuckyuck. What's _in _that?"

"Oh…herbs."

An air current swirled lazily around her neck, and she sighed.

"Fine. How long until Ash—the Lord Cymrian gets here? Do you think there's any chance of him believing anything I say?"

"I have no idea. What he'll be most interested in, though, is your power over the element of Air. Are those…is that…"

Gwydion gestured to the breeze that had settled once more around the woman's ankles.

"Alive? I have no idea. It's easy to give this one a personality…I call him Casper. I can't tell if it's the same one that's been swirling around my legs since I arrived in the forest…I suppose it's possible that new ones pick up wherever I go, but that would suggest I have some sort of power over them, which is ridiculous…"

She broke off, yawning widely, and then laughed as Gwydion yawned as well.

"Ha. One hour of sleep? Serves you right if you can't stop ya—aw—"

They both yawned again, and the girl tucked her legs under her and leaned against the back of the couch. Gwydion watched her eyes close, wondering how much of the vial she had drunk. Well, the more the better—this would give him a chance to explain the whole situation to Ashe before she started spouting her "fairy tale" nonsense and got herself locked up somewhere. On impulse, he slowly drew her back against him and half closed his eyes, waiting to see what she would do. The girl sighed and shifted, then relaxed. Gwydion smiled.

He had lied to the woman—he hadn't even gotten one hour of sleep the night before. He had stayed up in this study, pouring over maps of the forest north of Haguefort, trying to find out where she could have come from. With the threat of war, anyone—especially a strange woman who could control the very Air—could be dangerous. Gwydion looked down at the red-gold head resting on his chest, the thin undershirt and bright blue…he blushed slightly and moved his gaze back to her face. The wind ruffled her hair and settled peacefully around her neck. The duke of Navarne fell asleep with a smile on his face.


	5. Chapter 5

And woke again less than an hour later to the sound of horses outside

And woke again less than an hour later to the sound of horses outside. Ashe was back. Gwydion carefully lifted the girl and leaned her against the arm of the couch, then tiptoed out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. Straightening his shirt, he headed towards the main hall.

Inside the room, Jenny opened one eye. Good—he was gone. Bloody man, offering her that "herbal" potion…narcotics for sure! Male chauvinist pig—she could deal with a little cut. And if he thought that she would sleep quietly on the couch while he told Ashe how crazy she was…Still, he had made a nice pillow. She remembered leaning against him and warmed, then quickly put the thought out of her mind and stood up.

The girl looked around the room, noting that many of the books were in some strange, garbled form of English…maybe Ancient Cymrian. Absentmindedly, she wondered how it was possible that she understood the language here. This must be the duke's study, she decided, remembering how proprietarily Gwydion had shuffled through the drawers that morning. Walking to a door on the other side of the desk, she peered through to see another, more richly furnished room, outfitted with a large window and several carefully arranged armchairs. Good…maybe he would bring Ashe there to talk. She shut the door again and turned to examine the contents of the bookshelves.

Outside, Gwydion was surprised to see not only Ashe, but also Anborn, dismounting in front of the stables. He grinned and waved, walking over to them.

"Welcome back! How fares Highmeadow, Ashe?"

"Marvelously, but then, the Nain are expert craftsmen. And Haguefort?"

Gwydion looked at his godfather and the general. They both appeared dusty and travel worn, but no more than usual.

"I have…interesting news. And someone for you to meet. Will you join me upstairs?"

A few minutes later, Gwydion opened the door to the meeting room adjacent to his study, balancing a tray of food on one hand. Ashe and Anborn sat close to the fire, warming their hands and talking in low voices. They both looked up as Gwydion entered the room, then helped themselves to the stew, bread, and beer that he had carried in. After a few minutes of eating, Anborn raised an eyebrow.

"Well?"

In the next room, the girl held her breath. Her vantage point was perfect…she could hear every bite that the two men took. Was the one slurping Anborn or Ashe? She had just decided that Anborn was the more likely of the two to have hideous manners when she heard them start to talk.

"Well?"

The voice was deep and gruff—probably Anborn. Gwydion answered.

"Yesterday evening a disturbance was reported in the forest a few miles north of here. One of our guards brought me the story…he claimed that a woman dressed in strange clothes had been sighted walking along one of the small paths leading to the main road. When he demanded to know her name and business, she threw him against a tree with a blast of wind."

The girl ground her teeth. This story was _so_ one-sided.

"His companion incapacitated her, and she was moved to a forester's hut a little ways off of the main road. When I arrived, she was conscious. She seemed confused…as if she didn't know how she had come to be in the wood. When I questioned her, I found that she knew things that…things about Rhapsody, Achmed, and I. Things that neither she, nor anybody else, could possibly know. I lost my temper and threatened her, trying to find out who she was, but the wind rose up and threw me against the wall. Tysterick had no power over it. We knocked her unconscious again and brought her here. I have talked to her since, and she…well, do not judge her too hastily when you meet her. I do not think that she is evil or insane, and she offers a warning that may be useful."

_Gee, thanks_, she thought. This time another voice, less gruff and more…melodious, spoke…Ashe.

"Where is this woman now, Gwydion?"

"In the next room, asleep…"

Gwydion sounded surprised. Ashe, the girl remembered, had a dragon sense. He should have been able to tell that she was there. When he spoke, he sounded angry. The girl shivered.

"There is no one in the next room, Gwydion. It's empty."

"What do you mean? She was there a minute ago—"

Jenny heard the footsteps approaching and braced herself. The door flung open and Gwydion stood there, staring at her.

"You're awake."

"Yup."

He glanced toward the glass bottle on the floor.

"Did you—"

"Nope."

She stood up straighter, mouth set in a thin line, and walked purposely towards the doorway.

Ashe watched as Gwydion stepped away from the door. A figure emerged, dressed in loose blue pants and a brown singlet, one side blood soaked. He could see the short hair swirling around her head, and could hear her footsteps as she walked across the floor, could even smell the blood on her shirt. But that was all. He couldn't hear her heartbeat, didn't know the exact number of cells in her body or freckles on her face. To his dragon sense, she didn't exist. He put his hand on his sword hilt.

Jenny stopped in the center of the room. Ashe and Anborn watched her, Ashe standing with his hand on his sword. They were nothing like she had imagined them—more real, of course, and less familiar. These men could not be put on hold with a bookmark. In her mind they had been a collection of traits, but in front of her she could see things not mentioned…three or four of Anborn's nose hairs, and the deep lines around Ashe's eyes. His slit pupils struck a jarring note, but she forced herself to calmly look each of the men in the eyes. Gwydion came to stand beside her. She took a deep breath.

"Ashe. Anborn. Nice to meet you."

Ashe inclined his head politely.

"Welcome to Haguefort. I trust Gwydion has made you comfortable?"

"Yeah, he's been great."

There was a short period of silence, in which the girl and the two men watched each other. She jumped as the larger, hairier of the two—Anborn—let out a startlingly loud…well, it could only be described as a bark. Ahhh, she thought…that must be his "impatient cough". He spoke.

"Sit."

The woman frowned slightly, but obliged. A gust of wind followed her progress between the armchairs, whispering uneasily around the Cymrians' feet. They glanced at each other, and then at Gwydion, who shrugged and sat down.

"How is it that you have power over the wind?"

She sighed and glared at Gwydion.

"I don't. I mean, I don't consciously decide to make the wind rise up, or go where I want it too. It just seems to happen."

Anborn, Ashe, and Gwydion exchanged another glance. This time it was Ashe who spoke, his voice low, smooth, and underlaid with a faint, crackling sense of power.

"Where do you come from? Why haven't we heard of you before this? Are you part Kith?"

"No, I'm human. You haven't heard of me because I don't come from this world. I don't know how I got here, or why the air seems to react to me so strongly. Where I live… this world is a story, so I know things about…you…and this whole…situation…that may seem strange to you. I swear I'm not possessed by a F'dor or insane or anything. Well, I don't think I'm insane."

She saw Gwydion put his head in his hands and stopped talking with a sigh. Ashe and Anborn were still staring at her, eyes doubtful. Anborn spoke first.

"Prove it. Prove that you know what you should not."

"Errrrr…okay. Anborn. Rhapsody gave you a shell before she left. Into that shell she sung the song of your name, in the hope that it will make you whole again. She also gave you a kiss."

The girl paused, smiling slightly at the look of shock that had spread across his dark face, and then turned to Ashe.

"Ashe…or Sam. I know how you met Emily, and gave her one of two identical coins. I know you proposed to her, but were brought back before you could see her again. I even know who moved you through time."

She turned to Gwydion, who was watching his two mentors' expressions with a puzzled, amused look on his face, and raised an eyebrow.

"Do you think that's enou—"

Ashe stood over her, sword at her neck, before she realized that he had even left his chair.

"The only way you could know so much…No, even that wouldn't…What _are _you? What is your purpose here? What else do you know about Rhapsody--answer me!!"

The woman rose to her feet, expression cold, lips a thin white line. She gestured and Kirsdarke, the elemental sword of water, was blasted out of Ashe's grip.

"Do you know how _fucking _sick I am of having swords poked at my neck?! And if _anyone _tries to hit me over the head with fucking _anything_…bloody _fucking _hell! SIT DOWN!"

She stared at Ashe, cheeks blazing pink in her pale face, wind making her pants flutter frantically. He stared back, pupils contracted to slits, his face expressionless. Gwydion threw Anborn an exasperated look, then broke the tense silence.

"Jenny. Ashe. Please sit."

They both turned to stare at him, Ashe in surprise, the woman in frustration. Both sat.

"Ashe. I trust her. I don't understand how she got here, or how she knows what she knows…but if what I have heard is true, then you most of all understand that people are not always what they seem. Listen to what she has to say; it could be important. Jenny. Calm yourself. If you know as much as you claim to about our…about us, then you should know that Ashe is only acting as he sees best."

Ashe and Jenny stared at each other, then nodded simultaneously.

"I apologize."

"I'm sorry too." She grinned. "But you did ask me to prove it. Do you believe me now?"

Gwydion glared at her.

"Tell them what you told me. And don't stretch your luck."

Jenny considered. If she told them what she knew, everything would change…what if it all ended horribly? But she was here, had already started changing things. Maybe she was here for a reason. Why else would she have arrived, seemingly at random, in the middle of the Navarne forest? With a jolt of excitement, she remembered Meridion, and his manipulation of the film of time. That would explain so much…Anborn's "cough" interrupted her thoughts.

"Ashe—is anyone near?"

He shook his head.

"Are you sure? Not even any servants?"

"No."

"Good. Listen carefully…"

She took a deep breath and shifted in the chair, mismatched socks disappearing under her crossed legs.

"I only know what happens here up to a certain point; after that your guess is as good as mine. Sorbold is gathering a huge army, and will attack Sepulvarta soon, if he hasn't already. Anborn, you and Constantin must leave as soon as possible…but even if you get there in time, there's not much you can do. The statue of living stone that he told you about was created from the Seren-F'dor son of Micheal, Waste of Breath, and a statue from the earth-temple. He, Faron, has a set of scales. Has Rhapsody told you what those are?"

Ashe, Anborn, and Gwydion looked at each other, then at her, and shook their heads.

"Okay…suffice it to say that they're incredibly powerful, and were torn from the hide of the child of the Primordial Wyrm, the big fat one that lays beneath the earth and will one day rise and eat everything. The one the F'dor are trying to wake. Also, the Sorbold-ruler guy has an army of mutant locust-dragon things, as big as horses. That's what he'll use to destroy Sepulvarta. His human army will stay loyal to him because he's got them all convinced that Constantin is corrupt and evil…okay, that's that. Lessee…oh, the Golgarn are being convinced, as we speak, that the Bolg are planning to attack them, so you can guess what side they'll join. Achmed has insulted the Nain by refusing their well-meant, though useless, advice on his magic glass thing, so I imagine that they will try to thwart him. I think it's imperative that it gets built, though. What else…oh! A Dhracian is traveling with Achmed, Grunthor, and Rhapsody…he's got information for Achmed, but you need him here. Portia the chambermaid is actually an ancient F'dor—you've probably noticed there's something odd about her, Ashe…you're not going crazy, she's changing her form to look like Rhapsody, so se can posses you. In a few days the Dhracian will catch her scent, but he won't get here till the same time as Faron—the living stone soldier—and she'll possess him before the Dhracian can kill her. So you'll have to do something about that—how long would it take to send a message to the Bolglands?"

She looked around the room expectantly, and met only blank stares. Gwydion's mouth was actually hanging open. The woman laughed, and sat back in her chair.

"I'm sorry--was that too fast?"

Finally, Anborn blinked and shook himself.

"Errr…almost a week."

"Hmmm, that's too long…I'm not sure that there's any good way to detain a giant stone statue, either. If we can stop the Dhracian from trying to kill the F'dor woman—and Ashe, don't let her near you—then we can prevent her causing any injury. We just have to make sure that she's out in the forest when Faron comes. Once she's joined with him…lessee…Grunthor will consider it his task to hunt her down, because she'll be made of living stone. That will put him in serious danger, though…do you think he'll be alright?"

Ashe nodded slowly, still mulling over what she had said. Gwydion spoke first.

"Yes, Grunthor can take care of himself. I have a question, though, about the scales. Can you describe them?"

"Mmhmm. They're rough ovals, small enough to fit in your hand. Clear until they catch the light, with shapes ingraved in--"

Gwydion jumped to his feet, face alight.

"Jenny! I've seen them!"

"What? But Faron has had them…oh my god. What color were they?"

"It was a long time ago…one, I think, was opaque. White. The other was black."

"Holy shit…where? Where did you see them?"

"Around my mother's wrists. They were set in silver, and she would sometimes wear them to state dinners. After she died, my father placed them in the House of Remembrance."

Ashe looked up, frowning.

"The House of Remembrance was occupied by a F'dor demon for years…"

Jenny interrupted, looking thoughtful.

"Yeah, but it wasn't an actual demon—it was more of a construct. Maybe it didn't know what the scales were—their story is pretty ancient, and the others have been in Manosse for the last thousand or so years. What if…"

Anborn's deep voice stopped her, heavy brows creased over his dark eyes.

"Girl. What are these scales? What are they good for?"

"Like I said, the five or six rainbow-colored ones came from the hide of a Wyrm. They're incredibly powerful…looking into the future, that sort of thing. The ruler of Sorbold had one—that's how he manipulated the scales. These two though…I don't know enough about them. The black one represents the Void, and the white one…it's the opposite, whatever that is. If they're even _equal _in power to the others, having them on our side would be…incredible. If there is any way to get them…it could make all the difference."

She stopped, staring at the carpet in a daze. Holy cow. Maybe _this _was why she had been sent here. Maybe the future of this world depended on those two scales. She shivered—the idea of Rhapsody, Achmed, and Grunthor actually _losing_ the coming war hadn't crossed her mind until now, but when she thought about it…the odds were definitely against them. The girl looked up again to find all three men staring intently at her. She took a deep breath and stood up.

"I'll go. I've told you all I know, and you two—" she gestured at Anborn and Ashe, "definitely can't be spared."

She held her breath, expecting them to burst out laughing. Instead, Ashe nodded slowly.

"She's right. Anborn, you—"

"Find Constantin and muster an army. I know."

"Yes. I will…deal with Portia and manage the alliance that we need if we are to have any chance against Sorbold…and the F'dor."

Gwydion stared at the woman standing in front of him in disbelief.

"_You'll _go? How will you defend yourself—let alone the scales? Do you even know the way?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. Damn.

"You will go with her, Gwydion. Together you will find the scales and bring them…bring them to Rhapsody. She will be in the Bolglands."

He gaped at Ashe.

"Me?! But what about Haguefort?"

"Your steward will manage well enough if I need to leave. The need to find these scales outweighs all else…including your duties as Duke of Navarne."

He stood and faced the girl.

"Everything depends on the truth of what you have told us."

She looked him in the eye.

"I know."

And if it's any comfort, she thought, "everything" now includes my life. Hoooooo… Affected by her nervousness, a breeze picked up in the room, stirring the heavy curtains and making the fire flicker.

Gwydion rose to his feet.

"Tell everyone that I've gotten news from Melisande. We'll leave tonight, so that no one sees Jenny—that should keep Portia and any other spies in the dark."

He nodded to Ashe and Anborn, walked to the door, then paused and turned back.

"Are you coming? We need to find you traveling gear…it's cold outside, and the journey could take weeks."

The woman turned to the two Cymrians.

"Thank you for trusting me. It was an honor to meet you, and I hope that…someday…I will see you both again. Goodbye, and goodluck."

She turned, feeling a little self-conscious after the solemnity of her speech, and followed the duke out the door.


	6. Chapter 6

Hundreds of miles away, a woman sat over a well, rocking violently back and forth

Hundreds of miles away, a woman sat over a well, rocking violently back and forth. A low keening escaped her mouth, and her pupilless silver eyes darted unceasingly around the room. They fastened for a moment on the wooden door, swinging slightly, and then moved on. Outside in the hall, the last attendant shook her head as she made her way down the stone hall, the sounds of the seer's distress echoing in her ears. The old woman had looked after her for all of her life, as her mother and mother's mother had done, for as long as anyone could remember. Now the temple was empty, and the seer had gone mad. For weeks she had eaten nothing, growing even more frantic when approached, until, one by one, her attendants had given up and left. Except one. The old woman picked up a broom and calmly began to sweep the ancient stone steps that led to the seer's tower. To see solely the future, she mused for the thousandth time, would be a terrible fate. But the nice thing about the future was that it was constantly in motion…nothing happened until it happened. She leaned her broom against the wall and stretched, turning a knowing smile to the chamber above her.

"It'll be alright, dearie…you'll see. They'll be back."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

In the forest north of Haugefort, a small forester's hut saw its second strange visitor in twenty-four hours. This one, however, was not unconscious. Nor did it appreciate the majesty of the setting; it had been born in the desert, and was not comfortable unless in close contact with its mother, the earth. The layers of icy snow prevented this, taking away any semblance of calm or patience that the creature had ever possessed. It moved quickly, with long, heavy strides, obliviously trampling everything in its path. Including the hut.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

It was dark outside. Very, very dark. So dark that Jenny had not taken three steps before she crashed directly into Gwydion's back.

"Owwww. Bugger!"

She rubbed her nose, forgetting that she wore large leather mitts, and grimaced at the smell. Dead rabbit and urine. Yuck.  
Gwydion silenced her with a look—or tried to. Unfortunately, she couldn't see it.

"Shhh. Stay a moment…"

He peered around the side of the wooden stable, but the moonlit courtyard—free from the shadow of the keep—appeared empty. Silent except for the faint crunching of boots, he moved out of the courtyard and down onto the main road. Trying to imitate his method of slinking from snow bank to snow bank—difficult with a big heavy pack on—the girl followed him, eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light. He led her through a maze of criss-crossed back roads, between dark, silent cottages and past several small, misshapen snowmen, until they arrived at the tall stone gate that marked the edge of the town. Gwydion lifted the latch on the small wooden door, and they slipped through. The girl breathed a sigh of relief as they headed into the trees. They were off.

A few moments later, the door in the wall swung open again. A slender figure swept through, shutting it silently behind her. She had removed her white apron and mobcap, and her worn brown dress merged with the night, rendering her invisible. An icy wind ruffled her dark hair. Where an ordinary woman would have shivered with cold, she stilled and lifted her head, nostrils flaring gently. Five measured heartbeats later and she was off again, quicker and more purposefully than before.

Gwydion heard the steady footsteps behind him falter, and then cease altogether. He turned, a little annoyed. Was she tired already? There was no way they'd make it all the way to— Then he saw her. Eyes closed, she appeared to be concentrating on something. The hair poking out from under her giant fur hat—courtesy of Johnny—stirred, and she shivered. Suddenly her eyes snapped open.

"She's coming. Oh god—she's here. Oh shit."

She whirled around, the oversized pack on her back nearly toppling her, and stared wide-eyed into the dark forest. Gwydion turned more carefully, pulling Tysterick out of its scabbard. He peered between the trees, but could make out nothing. Nevertheless, he waited, listening to the girl's rapid breathing. Suddenly, she froze.

"Come out. I know you're there!"

A minute passed, and then a petite figure stepped out of the wood, golden hair illuminating her smiling face. Gwydion gasped, and then stepped forward, incredulous.

"Rhapsody?! You're ba--"

He felt a blast of freezing air rush past him, and saw Jenny's rigid form rock slightly as it flew past her, gathering speed and picking up ice crystals as it went. He barely had time to scream out a warning to Rhapsody before she was lifted off her feet and thrown through the air. She crashed headfirst into a tree and slid to the ground, limp. Gwydion stared in shock and horror, then turned to Jenny. Her face was pale, lips almost invisible as she stared with clenched fists at the beautiful figure lying on the ground before her.

"What have you _done_?"

He dropped his pack in the snow and ran forward. Jenny stuck out her foot and tripped him. A moment later, she was on her back in the snow, arched uncomfortably over the giant leather pack under her. Gwydion pressed his knee into her chest and hissed,

"Do you _know_ who that was?! If she's dead…"

"Get _off _me, you big oaf!"

She struggled, and he shot her a look of disgust before rising to his feet and walking quickly towards the figure on the ground. Rhapsody was one of the most important people in the world to him. One of her delicate hands moved slightly, and she moaned as she struggled to open her eyes.

"Gwydion, stop! You idiot! _That isn't her_."

He stopped in his tracks, and slowly turned around.

Jenny gasped for air, cursing Gwydion as she freed herself from the clumsy pack and rolled to her knees in the snow, banging one knee on the hilt of his sword—he must have dropped it in his haste. My god, how bloody stupid did you get? She saw the F'dor twitch, and her blood froze. She yelled a warning to Gwydion, and he turned around. Too late. His eyes widened as he realized he couldn't move. Behind him the woman rose smoothly to her feet, a small smile on her face. Golden hair darkened in the blink of an eye, and Portia walked forward.

"Very clever."

The woman kneeling in the snow rose slowly to her feet, clumsy in her oversized clothing. Portia's eyes fastened on the sword hilt that lay in the snow beside her. She was intrigued, but not worried; the attack had caught her by surprise, but had turned quickly to her advantage. But that sword…her eyes gleamed. She had heard of that sword, as had anyone who had been around as long as she. An elemental sword with the power to lift enemies into the air would be a very useful acquisition.

"I know what you are."

The woman in the snow tore off her glove and grabbed the sword hilt, gasped, then brandished it in front of her.

"Release him!"

Portia laughed.

"Or you will…? I am not a fool, girl. I know who wields the sword of Air, and it is not you. Give the sword to me…and I will not hurt you."

Jenny took a step forward, her hand burning where she touched the hilt. Damn right she didn't wield the stupid sword! Shit shit shit where was Casper? She glanced at Gwydion, whose face was slowly turning blue. Oh crapcrapcrap what the hell did F'dor _do _when they caught you, anyway? Eat your soul, piece by piece? Torture you to death?

"Let him go! What are you doing to him?"

The woman smiled, dark eyes sparkling. Her voice, when she spoke, had a lovely soft quality to it that reminded Jenny of melted chocolate.

"Strangling him. Give me the sword, girl."

Gwydion stared directly at the defiant figure in front of him. Oh, gods…she _can't _control it. We're finished. His throat worked violently, but his eyes were calm. Don't do it, he thought. Don't give it to her. Run.

Jenny closed her eyes and concentrated. Feeling the cold air against her cheeks and eyelids, she willed it to move. Come on…come on. Nothing. The air was still. You got me into this fucking situation, bloody wind, where are you now? She tried to recapture the feeling of fury that had seemed to set it off before, but failed.

Portia stepped forward and reached for the sword. The girl tried to jerk away, but found herself frozen. She watched the incongruous scene before her helplessly…the slender young woman caressing the invisible sword, the man beside her immobile and purplish blue. As Portia laughed softly, still admiring the lack-of-blade, Jenny felt a soft wind whisper across the back of her neck. Suddenly a feeling of utter calm descended on her. She lifted her arm, marveling at the sudden knowledge of every miniscule eddy of air that the movement created. She turned her hand this way and that, consciously blocking out a certain part of her mind…don't think about it, not yet, it doesn't exist… Portia's red-rimmed eyes widened, and she lifted Tysterick with a brilliant smile. _Now._ Suddenly it was there, not knowledge, but pure…_something_. Jenny moved her hand, a small gesture, but now _it _was there, her mind swirling along on top of it, caught up in a rush of pure, alien energy. Tysterick soared out of the F'dor's hand and hit Gwydion broadside, knocking him out of his paralysis. He fell to the ground, gasping for breath.

Jenny stared at Portia, trying to keep hold of her mind. It was swirling away without her, and she couldn't quite focus on what she had just done, where she was…the forest seemed to swirl around her, a galaxy whirling with points of light. She gestured again, no longer aware of anything but the frantic spinning of her head, and was consumed by a whirlwind. Snow, branches, even the two heavy packs took to the air. Gwydion and the F'dor scrambled to get out of the way, faces stung by the ice particles shooting around them. The girl in the center sank to her knees in the snow, rocking back and forth. She stared wide-eyed at the ground, seeing nothing but a blur of stars whirling faster, faster--with a scream, she threw herself backward. Her head collided with something solid, and she slumped to the ground.

Gwydion, who had taken cover behind a tree, watched in horror as the whirlwind melted to the ground, revealing yet another development. Rising above the dark shape slumped in the snow was an unbelievably tall…something. It was vaguely man-shaped, but so covered with ice that he couldn't make out any features. Slowly, it raised an…arm?...and bashed itself across the face. Clunk. Clunk. The ice covering its head was chipped away, falling on the still figure at its feet. Underneath was…stone. Faron, Gwydion remembered. And…oh gods, and the F'dor. We couldn't stop it.

Faron banged steadily at his eyes, vision slowly clearing. He could sense…something warm, dry…comforting. Finally, it was close. He had followed this sensation, the one that reminded him so much of his father, for days, and at last he was here. The last shard of ice fell from his face, and he stared in wonder at the loveliest face he had ever seen.

Gwydion crouched behind a wide tree, eyeing Tysterick's hilt. The sword was just out of his reach, but Portia had not yet noticed it. He slunk forward, stretching out his hand, and froze. Portia looked down at him and laughed.

"You think I am distracted so easily? Your friend has gone berserk and killed herself, and this new…creature…appears to be stupefied. You haven't much of a chance, Gwydion."

Gwydion struggled for breath, furious with himself, as she reached down and picked up his sword. Achmed would kill him. No…he probably wouldn't get the chance. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jenny stir.

Her head was still strangely floaty, and she couldn't quite seem to focus on anything. She was very conscious of the air around her, could feel it flowing in and out of her lungs and over her face. In fact, if she concentrated, she could feel it swirling around a cold, solid figure next to her…stone maybe…no immediate threat. She stretched further, feeling her mind sweep over the icy ground, around a tree…oh—there was a familiar figure, Gwydion! She brushed through his hair and continued on, circling the smooth trunk of a tree until she felt something alien. Burning hot, dry, sparking…F'DOR!! Her senses screamed, and a wave of terror and anger washed through her, manifesting itself as a wall of wind.

Portia felt a cold breeze touch her cheek, and, startled, whirled. She leveled her sword at the figure on the ground, forgetting for a moment about Gwydion, who threw himself behind the tree. Just in time. The F'dor was blasted back against the wide trunk, where she braced herself, laughing defiantly. Until Tysterick slipped from her grasp and embedded itself in her chest. The sword's power lay not in physical wounds—she was F'dor, and that wouldn't have done any good—instead, it attacked her essence, scattering her, piece by piece, in the wind.

Ewww, thought Jenny. Portia pieces.

Faron looked on, confused. He could feel the warm, safe being in front of him blowing away… she would be gone, and he would be alone again. He stepped forward and embraced the pinned F'dor.

Through her panic, Portia felt him. A haven…air had no effect on living stone. But she was loosing herself too fast, she didn't have the strength to…

"Let me in…"

Faron inhaled. The F'dor left the body she had inhabited for so long, rushing in, swirling herself inside him. But she was missing parts of herself, parts of her soul. What was left slumped, dormant, at the base of Faron's brain. He liked the sensation. Now, back to the desert. Smiling to himself, he dropped the shell of the chambermaid, turned, and ran.

Shaking, Gwydion stepped out from behind the huge pine. He pulled his sword out of the body of the chambermaid, grimacing at the bloody outline of the blade, then walked toward the other figure lying in the snow. Jenny was as still as Portia, and her face was the color of the snow around her. No friendly breeze stirred his face; Gwydion swore.

Ashe emerged from the wood, breathing heavily.

"What happened? I realized Portia was gone and… is she _dead_?"

Gwydion, bare hand feeling for a pulse, looked up at him hopelessly.

"Which one?"

Ashe sank to his knees, watching Gwydion's white fingers press deeper into Jenny's neck.

"Gwydion. She's alive. Look."

He pointed to the faint plume of breath. Sure enough, she stirred, grimacing at the cold fingers digging into her throat.

"Owww…"

Gwydion sighed and sat back on his heels.

"Thank the gods…"

Jenny's eyes snapped open.

"What happened? Is she dead?"

"I…I'm not sure. Her body's over there."

Ashe was already examining it.

"No F'dor would die that easily. Whose tracks are these?"

The girl sighed, shutting her eyes again.

"Faron. Shit."

"This is my fault." Gwydion glared at the ground. "If I hadn't been so stupid…"

"No, it's not. It would have happened anyway…it was already written. It's fate, I suppose."

Damn, she thought. Does this mean we can't change anything? No…no wait. Rath isn't here. He hasn't been injured…so it _was _just coincidence. Or would he be injured some other way? Trip over a log, get attacked by something…even have a run-in with Faron? She opened her eyes and sat up.

"Owwww! Oh, bloody fucking hell…"

She clutched her head and rocked back and forth, eyes screwed shut against the pain. Ashe lifted an eyebrow at Gwydion, who watched her with a look of concern.

"She called up the wind again—could this be some sort of after-effect?"

Ashe nodded thoughtfully.

"Yes. If this is a new skill, as she claims, it is likely that her body is unused to wielding such power. Jenny, can you continue?"

She stopped rocking, head resting in her hands. Taking a deep breath, she raised her face.

"Yes. If the F'dor has possessed Faron, we can't afford to waste any time. Now, can someone help me find my mitten?"


	7. Chapter 7

Twenty hours later, Jenny stumbled to a halt, dropping her pack onto the snow

Twenty hours later, Jenny stumbled to a halt, dropping her pack onto the snow. Gwydion was already hunting around the bases of trees for firewood. She fell to her knees, feeling slightly dizzy with exhaustion. Oh, man. She liked hiking, but they hadn't stopped for more than ten minutes all day. Still, she couldn't appear totally useless…groaning under her breath, she opened the nearest pack, searching for the rocks Gwydion had indicated as fire-starters. By the time she found them—who had put the bloody things on the bottom?—Gwydion had created a fire pit and a large stack of wood.

"Catch!"

She tossed him the rocks, then came over to watch, ready to witness an incredible, technology-less feat of fire starting.

"Hrekin. I hate these things. Where's Rhapsody when she's needed?"

Jenny laughed, watching him bash the rocks together. Good…it was nice to know someone else was grumpy, too. She went back to the packs to find something to eat.

Later, she stared into the embers, wrapped in a "bedroll"…a huge (Johnny-sized, she supposed, although hopefully not as dirty) bag stitched out of several layers of feathers and furs that, while definitely not vegan, was quite warm. Her huge overcoat, hat, gloves, and mittens were at the bottom of her bag, to ensure that they wouldn't be frozen in the morning. She sat leaning against the wide trunk of a tree, a foot or so away from Gwydion. They had eaten beef jerky and dense, tough bread, followed by—surprise, surprise—beer. It tasted better, Jenny decided, heated over a campfire. Still, some tea would have been nice…with sugar and Mocha Mix…fat chance. She sighed, too tired to fend off homesickness any longer. What was happening back on…well, back on earth? When she returned (and she _would _return), would any time have passed? She imagined her family frantically searching for her and shuddered. No. Nobody would even know she had been gone. She closed her eyes and curled into a ball on the frozen moss, back against the tree and face to the dying fire.

"Good night."

Gwydion, half asleep already, murmured a reply.

"Good night."

Brrrrrr. The girl pulled her nose farther into her bedroll, and tucked her knees up to her chin. Why did it have to be so bloody cold? What time was it? Urg, all she wanted to do was sleep…she could feel the cold air from the ground seeping through her blanket, making her legs and back icy to the touch. Shifting again, she tried to summon up Casper, the friendly gust of wind. She hadn't seen any sign of it since the encounter with the F'dor. Pushing away the thought that he might be gone for good, she tried to force herself back to sleep. No luck. Grimacing, she pushed herself to her hands and knees, poking her head out into the cold night air. Gwydion was gone. The fire was completely out, a dark pit of ashes. She swore under her breath, then gasped. The sky…

She stood, slipped her feet into her leather boots, and walked out from under the tree. Stretching across the sky were the brightest stars she had ever seen. Galaxies crisscrossed overhead like a kindergartener's sparkle-glue project, illuminating the snow around her. How had she missed these last night? Staring up, she could almost imagine Rhapsody calling down a star to smite Anwyn, or even a race of people descended from the orbs overhead. Not other suns, she remembered, but Ether. Whatever that was. As she watched, one star shot across the sky, leaving a silvery trail behind it.

"Incredible."

She jumped, and whirled around. How the hell did he move so quietly? Gwydion stood a short distance away from her, staring at the sky.

"I've never seen a falling star before. I wonder where that one will land…and into which hands."

He stared at the sky a moment longer, then lowered his gaze to the figure standing in the snow. The woman shivered, wrapping her arms around her chest, face upturned. She still wore the blue zipper jacket and loose pants, although he had convinced her to leave the useless shoes back at Haguefort. The look on her face was riveting—awestruck fascination. Did they not have stars where she came from? A world without magic or stars… What was she thinking about? Could she possibly miss such a place? And if her power was truly new to her…well, it had to be frightening.

The woman shook herself and turned to Gwydion, face quizzical.

"Anyway, where did you go off too?"

He smiled sheepishly.

"I was cold. I haven't been winter camping in months, and this is the worst possible time to do so. I walked our perimeter, checking for trouble and trying to warm up."

"Did it help?"

"Somewhat."

"Great. Mind some company?"

Gwydion grinned and shook his head.

"No—come on."

The woods were beautiful at night, with the starlight filtering down onto the snow in glowing, abstract patterns. Gwydion, Jenny reflected, was surprisingly easy to talk to. He had a sense of humor, but wasn't a conversation hog, either. Unfortunately, this could easily be taken as evidence that Gwydion, and this whole Navarne thing, was just a figment of her imagination. Further proof that she was actually in a coma or something. Oh well, not much she could do about it if she was…she shoved the thought from her mind and focused on the conversation.


End file.
